


I Picked Up A Pen, I Wrote My Own Deliverance.

by J4r3dW1nch3st3r_D0ct0r_tr4nsb0y



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics, Aromantic Character, Asexual Alexander Hamilton, Asexual Character, FTM Alexander Hamilton, No Sex, North Carolina, Samuel Seabury is a red-headed little idiot, This Is Why We CAN Have Nice Things, Trans Alexander Hamilton, Trans Character, Trans James Madison, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:18:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J4r3dW1nch3st3r_D0ct0r_tr4nsb0y/pseuds/J4r3dW1nch3st3r_D0ct0r_tr4nsb0y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton is a 17-year-old trans kid in Charlotte, North Carolina, the center of the current HB2 controversy.  He picked up a pen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which, A. Ham makes a speech, destroys Samuel Seabury, and reads.

**Author's Note:**

> So... This had to happen, okay guys? I have a few more A. Ham fics in the works but most of them are definitely NSFW and I'm feeling really dysphoric, so I'm kinda staying away from that. This will be ongoing as long as HB2 is still in effect with a nice ending once it's put 6 feet under where it belongs.

Alexander Hamilton, a 17 year old transgender boy, stands on a stage alone. He’d been alone his whole life, so why not now too? He had talked about the figurative hurricane of the North Carolina HB2 and about how he was cast out of his home when he was 12 because he had told his (single) mother that he wasn’t a girl. He had spoken about his struggles to find a home and his eventual state of being his own guardian. He had even talked about how his father had left two years before he was cast out. “And when my prayers to God were met with indifference, I picked up a pen, I wrote my own deliverance,” the words ring out in the silent room and, after a long moment, the crowd rises and roars their approval as though it were a giant beast, clapping replacing roaring and whoops and cheers replacing the sounds claws make against rocks or trees.  
“Thank you for your kindness, sir,” Alex says as one man grabs his hand and tells him what a wonderful speech he’d made before giving him $20. Alexander has an uncanny ability to charm, if he so chooses, or infuriate. People either love him or hate him. No one who has heard him speak feels ambivalent about him. For the next hour, Alexander wanders the room strategically, speaking to every single person at least once, grinning ear to ear unless conversation turns to something serious, or if someone delivers an accidental insult, which happens more often than most people are comfortable with, but in Alexander’s book, it’s commonplace, easy to deal with, and not as stressful as intentional insults. When he’s just about to excuse himself, a boy, only a little older than himself, approaches Alex.  
“You make a nice speech, but it’s all built on a false premise, which is that you are anything other than a girl,” the strange, red-haired, well-put-together boy says in a pretentious Southern accent. “Samuel Seabury. I’d like to know your real name now,” he continues, “And another thing, your attempts to make the mental disorder you have normal are… Well, let’s just leave it at the fact that it’s a mental disorder.” Alexander closes his eyes a moment, takes a deep breath, and recites a passage from his favorite author and his namesake, a legendary man, “You have not even imposed the laborious task of pursuing you through a labyrinth of subtilty. You have not had ability sufficient, however violent your efforts, to try the depths of sophistry; but have barely skimmed along its surface. I should, almost, deem the animadversions, I am going to make, unnecessary, were it not, that, without them, you might exult in a fancied victory, and arrogate to yourself imaginary trophies.”  
Samuel Seabury looks shocked, and Alexander continues, “Scientists agree, my mind is different from yours. Not once have I claimed that I was the same as you, not once have I proposed that I had no mental differences to any cisgender man or woman. Dear boy, not once have I stated definitively that it cannot be classified as a mental disorder, simply that I personally do not believe it to have a place among the catalog of mental disorders, most of which are far more serious than gender dysphoria, which is saying something. I take it you listened to me speak on the feeling of dysphoria?” Samuel nods in a stunned manner. “Then you know that it is a very serious thing indeed. But perhaps it is the objections of those like you that exacerbate what would otherwise be no more than an extreme form of a mentally healthy cisgender person’s natural mood swings.”  
Seabury, at this point, is listening, fully entranced, and a crowd has gathered around the pair. “Is it not true that mental health does not mean that one is always happy?” This draws a murmur of agreement. “So perhaps transgender people simply have lower lows emotionally because of our unfortunate circumstance. But let me be clear, I claim no professional knowledge of the subject and I only profess my opinion here, tinged as it is with my own intimate knowledge of the feeling of gender dysphoria. I don’t ever profess to know everything on the subject, and I don’t even claim a great interest in personally pursuing research on the topic at hand, since it might inflame and aggravate my own natural sensitivity to such issues.” When Alexander finally stops speaking, there’s a mighty cheer, and Samuel Seabury slinks away, obviously defeated.  
When Alex finally retires to his small apartment, he is exhausted, but he forces himself to do his homework then exercise. When he falls into bed finally, he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. In his dreams, the governor of NC, Pat McCrory, has responded to his many hundreds of speeches in which Alexander had utterly eviscerated HB2, much to the chagrin of Pat and much to the delight of Alexander and all his allies. Alex wakes up in the middle of the night, restless, wide awake. He takes a bath and fixes a late night snack; fruit with some sugar on it and a glass of water. He reads some of the original Alexander Hamilton’s works. One in particular; a letter the eldest Alexander wrote after a hurricane. “Where now, oh! vile worm, is all thy boasted fortitude and resolution? What is become of thine arrogance and self sufficiency? Why dost thou tremble and stand aghast? How humble, how helpless, how contemptible you now appear. And for why? The jarring of elements—the discord of clouds? Oh! impotent presumptuous fool! how durst thou offend that Omnipotence, whose nod alone were sufficient to quell the destruction that hovers over thee, or crush thee into atoms? See thy wretched helpless state, and learn to know thyself. Learn to know thy best support. Despise thyself, and adore thy God. How sweet, how unutterably sweet were now, the voice of an approving conscience; Then couldst thou say, hence ye idle alarms, why do I shrink? What have I to fear? A pleasing calm suspense! A short repose from calamity to end in eternal bliss? Let the Earth rend. Let the planets forsake their course. Let the Sun be extinguished and the Heavens burst asunder. Yet what have I to dread? My staff can never be broken—in Omnipotence I trusted.” The current Alexander then skips to years later, to A Full Vindication of the Measures of the Congress.  
“And first, let me ask these restless spirits, whence arises that violent antipathy they seem to entertain, not only to the natural rights of mankind; but to common sense and common modesty. That they are enemies to the natural rights of mankind is manifest, because they wish to see one part of their species enslaved by another. That they have an invincible aversion to common sense is apparent in many respects: They endeavour to persuade us, that the absolute sovereignty of parliament does not imply our absolute slavery; that it is a Christian duty to submit to be plundered of all we have, merely because some of our fellow-subjects are wicked enough to require it of us, that slavery, so far from being a great evil, is a great blessing; and even, that our contest with Britain is founded entirely upon the petty duty of 3 pence per pound on East India tea; whereas the whole world knows, it is built upon this interesting question, whether the inhabitants of Great-Britain have a right to dispose of the lives and properties of the inhabitants of America, or not?” Finally, he goes back to bed.


	2. In Which we Meet James Madison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy Sunday and a chance encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a little description of my Alexander. In his appearance, my Alexander is closer to the original real life man than to Lin-Manuel Miranda because I felt that was more appropriate, I used a description found here http://foundingbrothersproject.weebly.com/alexander-hamilton.html  
> I'm thinking Madison might look more like Oak than the real James Madison just because he was really an unimpressive dude, but I might just avoid describing him so you can imagine either Oak or the original.

In the morning, Alexander makes his breakfast, reads some news; apparently there’s a court case against HB2, thank goodness. He smiles to himself. It’s Sunday, his one day of rest. He, of course, catches up on less publicized news on Sunday, but that’s restful for him. Less publicized news and more reading up on his namesake. The musical about him is catchy, and Alex is happy he worked in his favorite line into last night’s speech. Alexander boots up his laptop and turns on a video, a political talk radio show with a YouTube channel called Secular Talk. He likes it because the host isn’t afraid to use more vulgar language and openly mock stupidity. It’s a refreshing change from the tip-toeing he does around those he depends on, those who pay to hear his opinion.

Suddenly, as Alex is reading, he feels suddenly overwhelmed by dysphoria. He stiffens and swallows hard. He shakes himself and tries to push it back, but the tears start flowing freely as his body moves, reminding him of the curse he was born with. He doesn’t wear a binder when he’s not going outside of his apartment, so his chest feels very obvious to him. He curls up into a ball and starts sobbing. It takes him 20 minutes just to get to the point where he can uncurl. When he finally uncurls, he goes and puts on his binder. He lays down and swiftly falls back asleep. His dreams are full of darkness. Something seems to be coming, in his dreams, something big, but it doesn’t arrive. He wakes up to his stomach growling at him to get the hell up and eat lunch.

It’s 12:45 when he’s finished lunch, and he decides to go for a walk. He walks around Charlotte for a while, taking in the city. He remarks to a tourist who had asked his opinion on where to go, “I’ve lived in this city my whole life, explored it for 4 years, and I’m still not bored. She’s full of things to do. You can’t really go wrong here. Shame it’s in North Carolina, but still, it’s beautiful.” The tourist smiles at him and replies, “Well, it’s not like HB2 will stand up to the test of time. Are you…?” He just grins and sings in a soft, melodious voice, “Alexander Hamilton, my name is Alexander Hamilton, and there’s a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait, just you wait.”

The tourist suddenly recognizes him. “Oh my god, you’re that famous trans speaker, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you right away! Would you mind coming with me a moment? My sis-um… Brother is a big fan of yours,” the tourist gushes and points to a car parked on the side of a busy street. “Is your sibling trans? Female to male like me, I take it?” The blushing and nodding, Alexander thinks, is a little much. “Okay, yeah, and he’s in that car over there, parked alongside that nice busy sidewalk? You understand my need for caution, I am a public figure, minor, and trans person, a triple risk,” he adds. The woman nods emphatically, leading him to the car and opening the door. A small, lithe trans boy is sitting in the back seat, listening to music, eyes closed.

The boy’s eyes snap open as the door opens, of course, and the boy looks out, recognizes Alexander, and leaps out of the car, hugging Alex tightly. Alexander hugs the boy right back. “Hello, kiddo, how are ya?” The boy smiles at him then murmurs, “Can I be serious and talk to you about trans stuff for a moment?” Alex, of course, nods. “I’ve been struggling with dysphoria a lot lately, more than usual, and well, my parents say I have to buy my own binder because they want to teach me self-sufficiency.” Alexander flinches. “Parents,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as the face of his own mother flashes before his eyes the moment they close to blink slowly. “Well, want a nice easy job while you’re here? It is, after all, Spring Break, and I have lots of speeches to give. I could use a one-week assistant, and the pay would be good enough. You are over 15, right?” The boy nods eagerly and his sister says, “We’re fraternal twins, both 16.”

He talks to their parents, who eagerly approve the job offer, and so he leads them back to his “office” which is really just a room in the building of the company that sponsors him. They complete all the paperwork and they ask if Alexander can front his room and board; he can. He could afford a real house, but he chooses not to. He’s getting out of NC as soon as he graduates high school, to Broadway if he’s lucky, Silicon Valley if not. He smiles when the boy asks why Alexander’s doing this for him. “You and me, we’re brothers. We need to take care of each other because no one will take care of us if we don’t,” he replies, continuing, “We’re family, not by blood, but just as family as you and your sister. Besides, I have a certain love for all humanity. I may seem to hate those who hate me, but I don’t, I simply disagree with them and would like to express that. I always say, I don’t hate anyone.”

The boy smirks and shows Alexander a video of him absolutely destroying Samuel Seabury last night. Alex laughs. “Well, I might have utterly picked apart his ideas, but I never once said anything about him as a person.” The boy’s name is James Madison. Alexander smiles at Philip and asks, “How would you like to hear some of my next speech?” The boy grins and replies, “That would be awesome!” Alex picks up a piece of paper, obviously hand-written. “We, the human race, have a sacred duty to take care of one another. Gay, straight, pansexual, asexual, or anything in between; white, black, or any other race; transgender or cisgender; Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or any other religion; why should our differences turn us to oppression and murder? The world is wide enough for us all, so why can’t we live in harmony? I admit that I am often abrasive, cursing at and insulting others. This is because I too easily become frustrated by people not understanding that we, as a sentient species, must protect ourselves and our planet. We have a sacred duty to protect diversity in as many respects as possible, within our own species, and a responsibility to attempt to keep humanity from driving other species to extinction.  
“If you will indulge me for a moment, I would quote Alexander Hamilton then explain my purpose in doing so; ‘And first, let me ask these restless spirits, Whence arises that violent antipathy they seem to entertain, not only to the natural rights of mankind, but to common-sense and common modesty?’ I would ask this to those who hate their fellow humans. I would ask them this because I am honestly curious as to what spirit might possess a person to hate their own species. They may never answer, however, and I doubt they even understand it. How could they when they lack even an understanding of what it is in another human they hate; the mirror every human displays to one another. A person who cannot recognize that one sees oneself in every other person cannot possibly understand why they hate the people who they see as different.”

When Alexander stops speaking, James smiles at him and says, “It’s great.” The two retire to Alexander’s apartment. James sits on the couch and turns on the TV and Alexander goes to use the restroom. On his way back, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, violet-blue eyes obviously troubled, auburn-red hair not quite brushed fully, pale skin flushing red, face almost seeming like that of a starved child. He grabs a brush and tries to control his hair . He splashes some water on his face. “Get yourself together, Alexander,” he whispers to himself. He smiles as he walks back out; at this point it’s about 18:30, and Alex is a fan of an early dinner. “Hey James, how does steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans sound for dinner?” The boy grins and replies, “Sounds amazing, can I help?” Alexander shows him how to cook the green beans and teaches him a few things about cooking steak.

The two sit on the couch and eat. James eats with a certain delicacy that illustrates his upbringing; he was obviously taught manners so thoroughly they even come out in his manner in an informal setting. Alexander, on the other hand, eats neatly but without the delicacy that ingrained manners add. “It’s very good, sir, thank you,” James says politely before offering to do the dishes. Alex lets him do that, knowing a boy like him would feel obliged to repay him for the meal even if he had cooked simply because it was Alexander’s food and kitchen. Alex, meanwhile, sets up the pull-out bed for James; the boy seems exhausted. The two sit on the bed for a while longer, watching a Doctor Who rerun, then Alexander retires to his bedroom. The older boy is not tired, but James was falling asleep. Alexander rarely sleeps before 1 AM and never before 10. He simply likes to take an early dinner because he prefers to spend his time later surfing the internet or writing.

Tonight, Alexander doesn’t write. Instead, he listens to Daveed Diggs’ music and plays games. He stays up until 2 AM, unable to sleep before then despite multiple attempts. He once again closes his day reading his namesake’s writing; “This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career; to begin, as I humbly hope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality.  
If it had been possible for me to have avoided the interview, my love for you and my precious children would have been alone a decisive motive. But it was not possible, without sacrifices which would have rendered me unworthy of your esteem. I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest it should unman me.  
The consolations of Religion, my beloved, can alone support you; and these you have a right to enjoy. Fly to the bosom of your God and be comforted. With my last idea; I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world.  
Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Embrace all my darling Children for me.  
Ever yours  
A H”


	3. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Hamilton delivers a few more speeches and we skip forward to graduation because the author wanted to get John Laurens and Hercules Mulligan in similar to how it happens in the musical!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and edited some of the other stuff in the two previous chapters, and I am so sorry if this is terrible. I wrote this in a rush because I realized I wouldn't have time to write over the weekend. I'm not sure if anyone is still reading this, but I will keep writing it.

Alexander awakes at 7 to the sound of the TV being turned on. He checks the time and swears under his breath. He had slept through his 6:45 alarm and he has a speech at 7:30. He starts getting dressed and yells, “James, will you do me a favor, print off the document labeled ‘Who Tells Our Story’?” The boy does as he’s asked and offers to cook a quick breakfast. Alexander replies, “No thanks, I just have cereal, I can always eat that on the way to the speech.” When he’s dressed, Alex brushes his hair haphazardly; it’s 7:10 and the car to take him to the event is coming in 10 minutes. Alex begins packing his bag, a backpack he always keeps with him to contain the necessities of his day-to-day life, but he always ends up unpacking it at home and remaking it.

Today, he puts in an extra water bottle and an extra granola bar. James is already ready to leave, of course. James hands Alexander a stack of about 8 sheets, all with words typed in black ink from top to bottom. Alex thanks him and leads him downstairs just in time to see a dark silver car pull up. “Alexander, who’s your friend?” The voice is his manager, George Washington, a great man by all accounts. Alex explains James’ presence, and George nods. The pair get in the car, and James grins stupidly at Alexander. “What?” James just starts laughing, and then finally replies, “You looked so funny rushing around, I’m sorry Alex, I just can’t help it. And you have this one bit of hair sticking up all crazy.” Alexander laughs softly and brushes it back into place with the brush George offers him.

They arrive at the event just in time, Alex barely having time to sit down backstage before the host introduces him, and Alexander walks out calmly. “Hello, folks, how are you this morning?” His greeting receives a cheer that sounds a little like “good” mangled by cheers and bad timing. “Okay, so today, I’m not going to harp on about HB2-” Alex pauses as the crowd boos the very name of the bill, “-Instead, I’m going to talk about us as a nation. I’ve been reflecting a lot on my namesake; he’s gotten a lot of press lately and is staying on the ten dollar bill. So I’d like to tell his story. You are all historians, or you donate to historians, so you should sort of know his story, but I want to tell you about my own take on it.”

“When Alexander was 12, his mother died. The two were both ill, but Hamilton survived. When he was 17, a hurricane destroyed his town. He didn’t drown. He survived, and he wrote a letter about it. That letter, in my opinion, demonstrates how, even as a teenager, Alexander Hamilton was a brilliant man, a genius. He wrote, ‘It began about dusk, at North, and raged very violently till ten o’clock. Then ensued a sudden and unexpected interval, which lasted about an hour. Meanwhile the wind was shifting round to the South West point, from whence it returned with redoubled fury and continued so ’till near three o’clock in the morning. Good God! what horror and destruction. Its impossible for me to describe or you to form any idea of it. It seemed as if a total dissolution of nature was taking place. The roaring of the sea and wind, fiery meteors flying about it in the air, the prodigious glare of almost perpetual lightning, the crash of the falling houses, and the ear-piercing shrieks of the distressed, were sufficient to strike astonishment into Angels. A great part of the buildings throughout the Island are levelled to the ground, almost all the rest very much shattered; several persons killed and numbers utterly ruined; whole families running about the streets, unknowing where to find a place of shelter; the sick exposed to the keeness of water and air without a bed to lie upon, or a dry covering to their bodies; and our harbours entirely bare. In a word, misery, in all its most hideous shapes, spread over the whole face of the country.’ Even in tragedy, Alexander used words as a vehicle to demonstrate his eloquence of thought and his depth of brilliance.”

As Alexander spoke, a respectful hush falls over the crowd, and Alex finishes with, “Hamilton was a brilliant man whose legacy has kept me going. What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see, as Lin-Manuel Miranda put it, and Lin tells Alexander’s story, as do we all, now. Alexander was the epitome of America, a bisexual orphan, immigrant, and scholar, an eloquent writer who shaped the story of America, and as Americans, we must tell his story. Yes, he made mistakes. He also said, “I never expect perfection from an imperfect man,” and humankind is certainly imperfect.” This gets Alexander a standing ovation.

As he mingles, people hug him and congratulate him and thank him, and one man even says, “I’m glad you tell his story.” One woman comes up to Alexander and asks why he didn’t talk about trans issues, and Alex replies, “My speech wasn’t about trans issues, this is not about trans issues, and why taint this joyful event with the problems of my kind?” The woman frowns and walks away, handing him a ten dollar bill. Alex smiles at the face on the bill and murmurs, “That’s right, Alexander, I tell your story.” James Madison overhears that and laughs softly, but Alex just smiles at him. An hour later, the two go back to Alexander’s apartment. They hang out until 12, when they go to a lunch event. Alex gives a similar speech but also ties his namesake’s struggles to his own, mostly his political struggles against those who didn’t understand his brilliance. The pair eat at the event.

Two weeks later, Alex is back in school, fighting transphobes and trying to survive a system that seems to hate him. Every night he dreams of graduation after doing his homework. Of course, the teachers and administrators don’t hate him, hell, they love him. It’s just his having to use the teacher restroom paints a big blue, pink, and white target on his back. Students refuse to listen to his speeches as many times as he gives them because transphobes will never listen to a trans person. Alexander has been accepted to Adelphi University in NYC, so he’ll never have to come back to this city unless he wants to.

Graduation day. Alexander walks across the stage and gives his speech on acceptance and life as a whole, he’s dressed in the men’s gown, he smiles. He made it. He has one last thing to do in this state, and that’s tomorrow in Raleigh. Then it’s off to NYC, city where dreams are made or broken. He hopes to get into Hamilton, but he knows it’s not a show for white boys to be in unless they want to play King George, so it would be nice to just meet Lin and the rest of the cast. He has a cousin in NYC but that cousin is depressed. Alex isn’t going to count on him. No, he has a job lined up doing inventory for a trading ship whenever she docks in NYC. He wasn’t aware they still existed, but his mother knew one person who still did that, and the man was a good person who disagreed with his mother’s decision to throw him out. Alexander’s life is finally moving, onwards and upwards, and Alex will never look back.

Before he sleeps the night after he graduated, he reads, “Throughout your letter, you seem to consider me as a person who has acted, and is still acting, some part in the formation and execution of public measures. You tacitly represent me as a Delegate, or member of the Committee. Whether this be done with a design to create a suspicion of my sincerity, or whether it be really your opinion, I know not. Perhaps it is from a complex motive. But I can assure you, if you are in earnest, that you are entirely mistaken. I have taken no other part in the affair than that of defending the proceedings of the Congress, in conversation, and by the pamphlet I lately published. I approved of them, and thought an undeviating compliance with them essential to the preservation of American freedom. I shall therefore strenuously exert myself for the promotion of that valuable end.”


	4. In The Greatest City in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander goes to Raleigh, then to NYC, and something special happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, this chapter was rushed and it might be terrible. I love you all!

Alexander sits on the bus, listening to the new Hamilton Sweeney Todd parody for the billionth time, keeping his mind off his upcoming speech, smiling to himself. He’s on his way to Raleigh; he’s going to make a speech right in front of the NC capitol building. When the bus pulls into the station in Raleigh, Alexander catches a cab to the capitol building where his fans and detractors are awaiting his arrival. He gets up on the podium and clears his throat before speaking. “We, the human race, have a sacred duty to take care of one another. Gay, straight, pansexual, asexual, or anything in between; white, black, or any other race; transgender or cisgender; Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or any other religion; why should our differences turn us to oppression and murder? The world is wide enough for us all, so why can’t we live in harmony? I admit that I am often abrasive, cursing at and insulting others. This is because I too easily become frustrated by people not understanding that we, as a sentient species, must protect ourselves and our planet. We have a sacred duty to protect diversity in as many respects as possible, within our own species, and a responsibility to attempt to keep humanity from driving other species to extinction.

“If you will indulge me for a moment, I would quote Alexander Hamilton then explain my purpose in doing so; ‘And first, let me ask these restless spirits, Whence arises that violent antipathy they seem to entertain, not only to the natural rights of mankind, but to common-sense and common modesty?’ I would ask this to those who hate their fellow humans. I would ask them this because I am honestly curious as to what spirit might possess a person to hate their own species. They may never answer, however, and I doubt they even understand it. How could they when they lack even an understanding of what it is in another human they hate; the mirror every human displays to one another. A person who cannot recognize that one sees oneself in every other person cannot possibly understand why they hate the people who they see as different.

“I now turn my attention to my implication that people live so much in our own heads that we see each other as we see ourselves; this phenomenon is well documented. Perhaps not in so many words, but it is obvious in one small fact; most people who hate gay people with a fervor and passion unmatched by any other of their own tend to be themselves gay, and I pity those people. They hate themselves so much they would betray others who share more than just the same species. Those who cling to heterosexuality with a violent desperation are denying their own desires more often than not. I myself may attest to a similar type of self-denial; as a preteen, I clung to a childish tomboy persona I’d spent years creating because I could not accept that, rather than the feminist tomboy with an admirable disdain for stereotypical femininity I thought I was, I was a feminist trans guy with an effeminate side. Of course, there are some differences; in my case, my denial was a result of a mix of ignorance and self-preservation whereas the aforementioned phenomenon is a result of hatred and often religion or a misunderstanding of nature; and because if that important difference, my denial did not result in hatred, but rather a delicate love-hate relationship with femininity.”

After a few hours of speaking, Alexander steps down to raucous cheering and half-hearted booing. Now off to Broadway to try his hand at the stage and to polish his writing skills. He smiles as he sits on the bus for the second time that day. Maybe he’ll get lucky and meet Lin, he thinks, and he writes a quick poem to show his inspiration.

“My body is my temple,  
My body is my curse.  
I aim for the sky and I pray,  
I just may,  
God willing,  
Find a career fulfilling.”

He falls asleep thinking about meeting Lin and the rest of the Hamilton crew. When he awakes, New York City is only a few miles away. He packs up what little he had taken out before falling asleep and he shoulders his bag, ready to face whatever awaits him in NYC.

He wanders a little before pulling up a map on his phone, and as he wanders, he becomes swiftly entranced with the greatest city in the world. As he wanders, he hears a noise he knows well. It’s Lin’s voice, freestyling, loudly, over the soft murmur of a crowd of Hamilton fans! He races towards the sound and wiggles his way through the crowd, and Lin’s eyes catch on Alexander’s slight frame and his eyes light up. Our precious cinnamon roll grabs Alex and pulls him out into the space that passes for a stage and says, “Spit a verse, Alexander!” Alex gasps, remembers his poem he wrote earlier, and recites it with flair. Lin cheers and says, “Thanks for indulging me, everyone!” He then takes Alexander’s hand and pulls him into the theatre.

“Oh my god, it’s really you!” Lin is fanboying, as he always does, and Alexander is fanboying at the same time, which is a surreal moment for the both of them. Lin gets out the first really coherent sentence, “So, umm, want to watch from backstage and come out at the end and give us a little 3-minute speech?” Alexander has to sit down, so he takes a seat on the floor. “Umm, hell yes!” The two are both giddy and overwhelmed and star-struck. Lin sits in front of Alexander, and the two are silent for a long minute before Alexander asks, “Only 3 minutes?” Lin nods. “Okay, then I’ll have to type up a brand new one. Should it be about trans rights or just our dearest Alexander?” Lin shrugs and replies, “Whatever you want.” “So, I’ll talk about trans rights, then,” Alex comments, then adds, “This is so surreal, my god, I didn’t expect you to be out there, let alone for you to fanboy over me! I knew you liked my work, I didn’t know you were so fond of me. This is like… Like finding out that one cool kid who is also a geek actually wants to get to know you!” The two stand up, and Alex hugs Lin tightly, and Lin finds Alexander a quiet place to work on his speech for that night.


	5. Also Not a Real Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some stuff I have to say to y'all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a TW in this part, trigger warning for mentions of rape (but not that really happened). It's after a few little things, so please read that part whether or not you'll read the part with the need for the trigger warning. Thanks!

Okay, so first, how are y'all liking it? Second, umm, guys, I don't know if anyone is still enjoying it since I sort of made it less about Alex being trans, so please do let me know, I'm writing this for y'all, so if you guys want to see anything in the fic, just let me know. Third and finally, the reason for the trigger warning. I'm working on a really fluffy fic, but it starts out pretty angsty. It's based on, in Non-Stop, when Burr is like "well it's the middle of the night" and for some reason I imagined that Alexander had gone because he had a nightmare instead of to discuss the Federalist Papers idea, and well, I'll let you read the first two paragraphs, tell me if you want me to post the whole fic, it includes Baby!Philip, Baby!Theodosia, and Fatherly!Aaron and Fatherly!Alexander, and Eliza is the sweetest wife ever.

“Come in, Alexander, it’s the middle of the night. It was a fool’s errand to come here, and it would be even more so to go back, and I would be a poor friend to allow you to attempt it,” the concern in Burr’s voice makes Alexander smile. “Thank you, Aaron.” The smaller man walks into Aaron Burr’s house, and Aaron closes the door behind him. “There’s a guest room, I’ll show you to-” Aaron stops as he notices the look on Alexander’s face. “Why did you really come here in the middle of the night?” The question hangs, unanswered, for a long minute. “Elizabeth didn’t come home tonight, she was at her friend’s house, she’s still there, safe, but… I had a nightmare,” the orphan admits. “Oh.” The sound hangs between the men, Alexander looking small and scared, child-like, and for the first time since Burr had met him, Aaron felt pity for the scrappy young lawyer rising in his chest. Suddenly, Aaron pulls his rival, his friend, into his arms. The hug is unexpected, awkward, and much appreciated by Alexander, who clings to the taller man like a child to his mother.

The two end up in Aaron’s own personal bedroom, mostly because as much as it pained him to admit it, Alexander couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone. The two sit on Burr’s bed for a while, and Aaron asks, “Would you like to talk about the nightmare?” Alex smiles at Aaron and replies, “Yes please. It was… I saw my mother dying, and John Laurens, and both of them were screaming my name, but I couldn’t move. Eliza was there too… Burr, someone was…” The young man is stiff, eyes wide and tear-filled, his face horrified at the terror his mind had conjured up. “Oh Alexander, that sounds terri-” “Aaron, it was Jefferson, raping my wife, in my nightmare!” The two are silent for a long moment, Alexander fighting back sobs at the memory, Aaron stunned that this brilliant man’s mind would torture him like that.


End file.
